


In Secret

by agynesschap



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-03 13:31:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agynesschap/pseuds/agynesschap
Summary: Bilbo Baggins of the Shire has been married to Thorin II of Erebor for the security of the Kingdom Under The Mountain. It has been 8 years since then, and Bilbo wants out.





	1. Respite

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen plenty of works with more or less the same plot, but I just discovered this one in my files. Apparently, I've kept it away for so long. Hope you enjoy!

_You can do this, Bilbo Baggins, _he thought_. Just think of it as an adventure._

_Oh, an adventure, huh? And what happened on the last adventure you decided to go on, you pinhead? You went and sacrificed your home, your garden, your life- all to spend the remainder of your years in a glorified cave with a bunch of grumpy, impolite, brutish dwarrow, and married the _king _of them!_

_Well that's why you need to do this. _Bilbo thought, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart as he pulled his jacket on. _You have got to escape somehow, even if it's just for a little while. This way no one gets hurt, at least. Not you, not Thorin, and not the trade route. You can just go, come back, and never think about this again._

Wringing his hands he marched over to the door, only to pause again.

Yesterday he had announced his intention to travel to Dale the following afternoon to Thorin over dinner. His husband, true to form, did not so much as bat an eyelash at the loss of his "_ghishavel_" for the day. The king was supposed to be in open court all day, listening to some dwarf or another complain about mold in the baths or drafts in the mines. But instead, when Bilbo had woken this morning, he had found a note on the table next to some buttered croissants: _Gone to investigate orc activities on the borders with Dwalin, will not return until late tonight._

So his husband had gone off on some dangerous mission, with only one guard to protect him, while _Bilbo _was sneaking out to meet with some _man _from _Dale _whom he met through anonymous letters of a poet!

What was he _thinking!_

_Stop it, _Bilbo told himself sternly. _It's too late to turn back now. If you don't go to Dale like you’ve said, Thorin will be suspicious, and you'll have hurt everyone for no reason. Best to enjoy the night, because it's happening one way or another._

Taking a deep breath as he reached for the door, the shiny thread work on Bilbo's sleeve caught the light. He glared at it incredulously. How could he have been so foolish? Here he was, the consort of the king, about to meet a stranger from Dale on a date in a bar, and he was _branded with the symbol of Durin on his jacket sleeve?_

Bilbo leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the door.

_I'm just not cut out for this adventuring business._

_***_

Hours later, a worn out and slightly cold Hobbit (as he had sacrificed his only heavy jacket for the sake of inconspicuousness) led his pony up to a tavern in a quiet alleyway of Dale.

He had changed into a light disguise before he left the king's rooms. He hadn't spent so long getting dressed since he was a young Hobbit dressing up for his first date. If he was too heavily disguised, he would encounter suspicion on his way out of the mountain. What would the dwarves of Erebor think seeing their king's consort dressed in common clothing heading out into the night alone? But if he was recognized in Dale, he could be in serious trouble- and not just with his marriage. And if he were caught at _all_, word would spread all over the two kingdoms about the king's consort sneaking around behind the king's back. And what would people say about their king then?

The idea that Bilbo's actions might reflect badly upon Thorin brought a new pang of guilt, but Bilbo smothered it. It was too late to turn back now.

The tavern looked nice enough. The windows were wide and bright, with laughter echoing through the glass on to the street. There was a freshly painted sign swinging on its peg above the door, spelling out 'the Arrow' in a sweeping script.

Still, Bilbo was nervous. This person could be anyone. A mercenary after the consort of the king looking to pilfer Erebor's wealth in whatever way necessary, or just a plain, old, strangely creative serial killer, looking to find his latest victim in the form of an unsuspecting Hobbit. The anonymous letters should have been warning enough, _But who is Bilbo Baggins if he doesn’t enjoy a little risqué? Publishing your poems was one, marrying an idiot would forever top the list._

Bilbo took a deep breath, laughing at himself inwardly. The person waiting for him in the bar was probably just a nervous sap like himself, looking for an evening of companionship. Bilbo could understand that. He may not be alone, but he might as well be. Thorin is a kind, thoughtful husband- but Bilbo doesn't want kind and respectful. He wants fire and passion- someone to wake him from the monotony of life with the spark of romance that he has craved since his boyhood. He can't take another minute of polite exchanges, respectful timetables, or mandatory kisses upon farewells. It's much too safe, much too quiet. He had to do this.

He took another deep breath, and opened the door.

Inside, it looked like any other upscale tavern, despite his racing nerves. The noise hit him like a wall. There were colors everywhere and everyone seemed to be moving- dancing, laughing, drinking. It was all Men, as he had expected. But which was the man who had written to him? No one had turned to acknowledge his entrance. How was he supposed to tell which one was his? He had no description, no name! _Oh, this is a horrible idea_, Bilbo thought to himself.

That's when he spotted the backs of two dwarfs sitting at the bar. One dwarf started to turn at the sound of the bell on the door, and it was like time stopped.

Bilbo watched the dwarf as he turned- watched pale face come in to view, his black hair sweeping over his shoulder to reveal strands of grey at the temples. The shirt he was wearing was a deep, quiet blue. Bilbo hadn't known he owned anything so plain.

He stood from his stool, gaping at Bilbo in disbelief- an expression Bilbo mirrored- until his face changed. His lips curved into a soft smile, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Bilbo thought he had never seen such a beautiful smile in his life. And he ached inside.

"Ah, it's you," Thorin said, the deep bass of his voice reaching out like fingers into Bilbo's chest, resuscitating him.

He ran outside.


	2. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is actually finished, but I'm tweaking little parts of it. I'll be uploading the chapters per day. Hope you enjoy reading it!

Thorin was dumbstruck at the abrupt departure of his husband. Before anything could register in his mind, he ran after him.

Tracking his husband would be a problem. Dale was a maze of structures, not properly planned out. Even the slums in Erebor were properly planned than this. He ran to where the roads would eventually lead back to Erebor, Dwalin be damned if he was left behind. Yes, his husband would go back to the Mountain, where no doubt they would have an argument. A first after 8 years of marriage, he bitterly thought. It was his fault that their relationship was in the rocks. Sure, it was a marriage of convenience, but not one where they just chose randomly. He specifically chose Bilbo Baggins. Not just because he is the grandson of the Thain. No, he chose him because he was the only one who dared to speak up against the arrangement. Now that he thought about it, choosing him might have been a punishment on Bilbo's belief. He had to correct that line of thought. Thorin has a lot to say to his hobbit husband. It's not that he doesn't love him. He has grown to love him over time, and he kept every little gesture Bilbo does close to his heart. Only, he never reciprocated them. He would correct that as well.

It all started when his husband began sneaking in papers from Dale. He thought nothing of it at first, but the way his husband regarded it as a secret made him curious. The fact that Bilbo doesn't know that Thorin knows what he's doing made it all the more intriguing. One night, after a long debate between his councilors, he discovered what might have been the reason. He spotted his hobbit husband asleep on his desk. Sighing, he gently carried his small husband from his position. As he lifted him, he noticed the various pieces of parchment sprawled on the desk. He inspected them after laying Bilbo on the bed. Various poems written in neat script on the pieces of parchment greeted his eyes. Each poem was not signed, though they were dated. He then arranged them chronologically and started with the very first poem. It was just 4 years after their wedding, he noted. The poems were all about happiness, the little joys one can find in nature, about love. He smiled as he read every poem thoroughly while his heart ached. He never did find time for his husband. As the poems go by, the themes were getting darker, desperate, and melancholic in nature. Some poems were outright flooding with it, others barely concealed. Finally, the poems dated within the year spoke of exhaustion, surrender. He looked at the peacefully sleeping hobbit on their bed and felt his heart ache. He loved him, truly, and he knows that his husband loves him too. After discovering his husband’s poems, Thorin dug deeper and found that Bilbo was actually publishing them anonymously through Dale’s literary papers. They were quite popular, as told by Balin who wasn’t surprised to know the identity of the mysterious poet.

***

“People are actually even considering of giving him an honorific: the ghost of Dale.”

“That’s the problem, Balin,” Thorin sighed. “My husband says nothing to me.”

“You say nothing to him,” Balin reminded him.

The King under the Mountain rubbed his forehead. “I love him Balin, I do.”

The old royal advisor could only watch sympathetically at his king.

“I want this marriage to work.”

“Marriages don’t work,” Balin said. “They grow. But in your case you both stunted it.”

“Well, we all know why,” Thorin replied bitterly. _Politics_

Balin sighed. “Talk to him. I would tell you how he feels, but that would only mean me intruding.”

“He talks to you?”

“No, but Ori tells me what Bilbo tells him.”

Thorin sat down on one of the chairs in Balin’s office. Sitting on his advisor’s desk is an engraving of the royal monogram: his and Bilbo’s initials in dwarrow runes arranged artistically to resemble a double headed raven.

“How can I get my husband to talk to me?”

***

Panting heavily, Bilbo did not dare look back. What was his husband doing in that pub? And to think they both lied to each other. Hah! What a pretty couple they are. He did not go back to the Mountain. He ran as fast as he could away from it all instead. Away from Dale, away from all the madness that this marriage has wrought into him. Away from his husband, whom he had learned to love despite the absurdness of it all. Whom he had loved, even though it was not returned. He had endured enough, and his poor heart was going break. He only stopped when he was sure that the outline of Dale was gone. He was somehow near to Laketown, but he found that his legs couldn't carry him anymore. Collapsing on the cold hard ground, he breathed heavily. Not for the first time, nor would it be the last, he cried.

***

“What do you mean he hasn't been seen?” Thorin shouted at the guards of the gate. “Are you telling me that I have put my finest eyes on the wall for nothing?”

“It's true, your majesty,” one of the guards replied with barely hidden nervousness. “The Consort has not been seen leaving nor entering the Mountain this evening.”

Thorin growled. The leaving, he understood. It was of course supposed to be a rendezvous with his fellow anonymous poet which turned out to be him, the King under the Mountain, his dwarrow husband who thought it would be a great idea to disguise as a fellow poet to lure his hobbit husband out of his melancholic state to repair their relationship_._ Not to mention, the scandal it would ensue should he be seen going out late at night from the Mountain. But entering...

“Your majesty,” Dwalin called his attention.

Thorin turned sharply at his best friend, “What?”

“Our spy has seen the Consort fleeing Dale, down to Laketown. They're tracking him as we speak.”

He ran away. Away from the Mountain.

“Gather a small party, those with light feet, no ponies. We don't want additional eyes on us,” he said to Dwalin before turning to the guards and glowering at them, “The rest of you, I will have you all sacked of your positions unless my husband returns. Do we make ourselves clear?!”

“Yes, sire!” They all replied a bit too loudly.

Thorin clenched his eyes and prayed. Someone gripped his shoulders, though he knew it was Dwalin without turning around.

“It will all be fine, you'll see.” Dwalin said. “But you better prepare for an angry hobbit when it's all over.”

“I swear I'll have the rest of my life in atonement for this,” he replied somberly.

Seeing that Dwalin and his men are ready, he turned back again to the guards.

“You better pray hard to the Valar that my husband is whole and unharmed.”

He marched forward, not waiting to hear their replies. He heard, however, conversation no doubt from the guards left on the gates that only made his heart constrict even more.

“The king doesn't even love him!”

“Hush! Do you have a death wish?!”

“It's because of this negotiations with this hobbit's country. He wants him alive, is all, nothing more.”

“Aye, it's as if he's nothing more than a hostage.”

***

He must have dosed off. Crying was supposed to be a habit of his, but it felt new to him tonight.

Bilbo carefully stood up from his position. Sighing heavily he started to walk again, but froze when he noticed movement on his left.

Pausing for a moment, he did not look left but instead walked, and walked, and walked. He started to quicken his pace when he heard a rock being tripped, and he ran when he heard a small “fuck” uttered far behind him. As he ran, he can hear the sound of heavy stomping on the ground just behind him. Whatever it was, he prayed it wasn't an orc. _Not an orc, you dimwit. Orcs don’t speak Westron. _A dwarf he could manage, or even a man.

Seeing the soft lights of Laketown, he ran as fast as he could.

_Just a little bit more, yes. You can be free of this, you can_-

He did not expect some ill robed dwarf to jump right in front of him. He yelped, which might have sounded funny any day to him but not now. Pivoting his heels he tried to get past the dwarf, but the dwarf was quicker than him.

Desperate, he pulled out a knife which his dear husband gave to him dispassionately on their 6th year as married couples. He lashed it out without finesse at the dwarf, who easily dodged his “attacks”.

“Woah! Easy there, your majesty! Wouldn't want you to get yourself hurt.”

Bilbo momentarily stilled. _So, my husband has sent someone to fetch me_. What a lovely night.

“Oh, someone will get hurt if he won't get out of the other's way!” He growled (tried) at the dwarf whose peculiar hair formation and braided eyebrows were starting to get on his nerves.

The dwarf smiled. “Ha-ha, but you see the king promised to chop off our heads should you fail to return safely, and I'd rather have my head still attached to my neck, so if you could-”

“You could all lose your heads for all I care. Now get out of my way!” He threw the knife at the dwarf with such fury he never knew he possessed.

The dwarf intercepted the flying knife with ease. “Alright. That's it, you're coming with me.”

Bilbo was weighed down by the heavier dwarrow body that collided with him, but he still tried to kick the dwarf's body with all might. He was satisfied when he heard an “oof” from the dwarf, but his little celebration died down as a cloth with a sweet smelling scent was forced over his face. The dwarf proceeded to still his struggling body. His body slowly slumped, and sleep was starting to reign in.

“My apologies, your majesty. It could have been easier if you just cooperated.”

It was the last thing he heard before he slept.


	3. Awake

After what felt like hours trudging down the Mountain, Thorin found a dwarf hunching over a body. His heart raced as he realized whose body it is. With a feral growl, he charged to the still hunched dwarf who was either deaf or too preoccupied with what he was doing to his husband.

“You worthless-”

“Thorin, stop!”

Dwalin's hands wrenched his arms away from hitting the dwarf.

“He's our spy,” Dwalin said.

Still fuming with anger, he turned back to the spy who was now carrying his seemingly unconscious husband on his back.

“Then why is my husband unconscious?!” he roared.

The spy seemed unfazed. “Your majesty, if you could just calm down. Makes me wonder what you've been smoking lately.”

“Explain, now,” Thorin's words were dripping with danger.

“Your husband here was a little uncooperative. Is just sleeping, nothing dangerous to his health. And I know how much dosage to make him fall asleep, I've lived among hobbits once,” he said calmly.

Thorin calmed down a little, but upon seeing the troubled face of his sleeping husband, his heart started hammering once again.

“I'll carry him,” Thorin offered, and gently took his husband away from the spy's hands before the spy could gawk an answer, carrying the hobbit like a babe.

“What did you give him, Nori?” Dwalin asked.

“Just the old sleeper, might actually do him good,” Nori replied.

“How long will it last?” Thorin asked while adjusting his hold on his husband.

“The dosage will last the whole evening, I'm afraid it couldn't be helped,” The spy said to Thorin as they silently trudged back to the Mountain. “Oh, and by the way, he dropped this.”

Thorin turned to look at the mithril knife held between the spy's fingers. It was his gift to Bilbo during their 6th year of marriage. There was blood smeared on it. Did he..?

As if knowing what the King was thinking, the spy smirked and cleaned the blood off with his tunic. “No, he didn't try to take away his life. Too fierce to do that. He threw it at me, and it almost hit my chest square. He's some aim, your majesty. Not to mention, a nasty kick.”

Thorin smiled, remembering how his husband once kicked his nephew. Fili limped for the rest of that day. “Aye. That he has.”

Looking back at the spy, he nodded and took the knife and put it in his pocket. Then he looked at his hobbit, who he noticed had dried tear streaks on his cheeks.

Kissing those cheeks, he held the hobbit tighter and patiently walked back to the Mountain with Dwalin, the spy, and the guards following silently.

***

Bilbo woke up with a yelp. His body was sluggish, as if he did some rigorous activi-

_Oh. _He then remembered the events that transpired last night. It didn’t help him ease his thoughts upon finding himself on the very bed he was trying to leave behind. Most of all, the hulking dwarf seated across the room was not helping him feel at ease.

_He’s awake._

Thorin looked at his husband as the hobbit consort tried to make sense of his surroundings. He couldn’t help but smile a bit, but that smile vanished upon seeing the fury in his husband’s eyes the moment it found his.

“I want a divorce,” Bilbo proclaimed.

Nothing. Silence reigned as both of them tried to digest what Bilbo had just said. Out of weariness, perhaps, but Bilbo knew what he said. He’s had enough.

“Bilbo-“

“I want to go back to the Shire, agreements be damned. Find yourself another plaything,” Bilbo exclaimed as he hurriedly relieved himself of the sheets that were covering his body.

Thorin, for all that he was expecting the conversation to go was unprepared for what his consort had just announced, stopped the hobbit from leaving the bed.

“No,” Thorin said.

Bilbo could only stare back with watery eyes. Then, he broke.

“Thorin, I’m tired-“

“It was me.”

Bilbo blinked away the tears, confounded. “What?”

Thorin sighed heavily, tentatively covering the hobbit’s hands with his own. Upon seeing no resistance (out of resigned defeat or tiredness, Thorin thought bitterly), squeezed it gently enough.

“Your anonymous poet, it was me,” the king finally said.

Hoping to find understanding and love in his husband’s eyes, Thorin dared to look at him. He only found anger and contempt.

“You, are you trying to disgrace me?!”

“What? That is absurd!”

“How on earth could you have known about-“

Bilbo paused. _My poems. Oh, he read my drafts_

Getting angrier with each puzzle piece clicking, he flicked his husband’s hands away and made straight for his wardrobe.

“Oh, you wretched thing. Isn’t it enough that you have stolen me away from everything I have loved? You have to go and steal the only comfort I had!” Bilbo shouted as he hurriedly emptied the contents of his wardrobe.

Thorin stood up, obviously frantic. “I did not steal your poems. They were on your desk, and I happen to have read them.”

“I cannot believe you. You can’t just snoop around my things like that!”

“I am your husband, if you forget.”

“Oh, I fail not to forget! Eight years have gone by and I still wonder how that happened.”

“I have read your poems, yes. But-“

“And how was it, your majesty?” He spat, turning with such force his little body swayed. “How was it to have read everything that I have poured out in letters and ink? How is it to feel my despair?”

“It appears that we have a lot left unsaid to each other, my dear husband,” Thorin said in a placating manner while shielding himself from the onslaught of clothes and anything his husband is currently throwing at him.

“Oh, dear indeed!” Bilbo flung a journal at him, which missed the king’s temple by inches. Before he could reach for a crystal vase, strong hands stopped him. He struggled with the staying force, but in the end had to give up as his knees buckled because of exhaustion.

One by one, the sobs emerged from the hobbit’s mouth as both king and consort collapsed to the carpeted floor.

“Bilbo, look at me,” Thorin pleaded as the hobbit was now releasing every tear he had left in his tiny frame. “Please, look at me.”

Bilbo looked at his husband’s eyes, the eyes of which he has grown to love and hate at the same time. Those eyes which conveyed no emotion for him ever, save this moment.

“It appears that we both thought we were unwanted. I must admit, you were not easy to love but along this cobbled path we call our marriage I have learned,” Thorin choked, he could feel his own tears welling up. “I have learned to love you”.

Bilbo could only stare at him. Here before him was the dwarf whom he thought was incapable of loving him. Of whom he thought despised him.

“Your mannerisms, your habits, everything. You,”

Thorin held his face like it was porcelain. He hates to admit it, but he knows the way the dwarrow king handles each and every item. Has watched his every single move. Has also loved his every single move.

“I have watched every fiber of you in secret, from the moment I laid eyes on you,”

“Seriously? Back then from the Shire?” Bilbo asked.

“Admittedly, it wasn’t out of love back then,” Thorin laughed, “But out of admiration.”

Bilbo could only do nothing but stare at his husband. _His_ husband. Words melting into nothing, but pure adoration and love for the dwarf before him.

“Your dedication to your duty as the future Thain, and later your dedication to your duty as Consort Under the Mountain. You, you,”

Both of them were idiots. Both with words stuck in their throats.

“Thorin,” Bilbo cupped Thorin’s face.

Unsure if it would sound right, but determined, Bilbo uttered what would be the first time he meant it without politicians or courtiers looking at them.

“Amrâlimê,”

And for the first time in 8 years, for the first time in what Bilbo thought was drought in a long time, Thorin’s face blossomed into something he’d only seen in his dreams.

“Amrâlimê,” Bilbo repeated, with more confidence, kissing his husband and saying it over and over again alternatingly until the dwarrow king stopped him and drew him in for a deep kiss, like a man gasping for air after being underwater for so long. Holding on to each other like they were the only two creatures left in Arda.

Before any of them knew it, they were stripping.

***

“Call me delusional, but it was never like that right?”

“I never knew it to be.”

Clothes strewn carelessly on the floor, the king and his consort were laying on the now much disheveled bed. Not to mention the books dislocated from their shelves, and the shelves themselves might need to be checked. Bilbo will have to mourn the beautiful but now broken glass book stoppers later.

“If you had told me 8 years ago that you could actually last that long-“

“Could have made it bearable?” Thorin smirked at his husband.

Bilbo could only laugh and hide behind a very much sweaty pillow.

“When was the last time we had sex?” Bilbo asked.

“I’m embarrassed to say this, but already a year,” Thorin replied.

“You kept count?”

“I don’t need to now, or am I just being presumptuous?” Thorin flashed Bilbo that lopsided smirk he knew his husband likes.

Bilob giggled. “Well, if you must keep counting then I daresay it must be for another reason.”

“Shall I make a list? Ready the parchment for today’s work?” Thorin asked coyly whilst slowly reaching for his hobbit’s stomach.

“Make it a journal,” Bilbo replied before shrieking as his royal husband proceeded to tackle him.

***

The maids were handed very specific instructions not to disturb the consort’s chambers. A much harried looking Nori suggested to give it a day. Dwalin could only laugh at the clearly confused faces of the guards of the royal quarters, as barely concealed noises coming from the consort’s chambers echoed in the corridors.

“As you were,” Dwalin commanded halfheartedly. “Your king has some repairing to do.”

Balin finally decided to reply to the Thain’s inquiry of his grandson’s marriage. The message was dated a year ago.

“Are you sure it’s wise?” Ori asked “You’ve held it off for far too long.”

“Oh, we’ll just blame it on the caravans,” Balin said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work ended lazily, but I really forgot about this piece for years now. I might revisit it again some time if my schedule permits and expound more on some points. Either way, thanks for reading!


End file.
